


Love In The Small Moments

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: But also, Crowley's Moustache (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage Proposal, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), That's right South Downs Tony baybee, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), and some not so implied but it's not in huge detail, even if it's like.. background xD, some implied sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: The world doesn't end, and time marches on.Days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.And they walk through it together, side by side and hand in hand.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 96





	Love In The Small Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doorwaytoparadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLAIRE >:3c
> 
> I wrote a little thing; and I really hope you like it <3

_Lord above, you’re ridiculous._

_You love it._

Aziraphale watches Crowley, watches him spin and shimmy. He’s having the time of his life in this club; in this place. Among humanity, among the living. The lights flash and reflect in his sunglasses, sparkling like starlight. His laugh sounds like music. Aziraphale leans against the bar top, just watching him. He sips his wine, watches Crowley dance. If one can call it dancing.

_A nightclub, really?_

_Come on then, angel, it’ll be fun! Live a little!_

_If it makes you happy, darling._

Crowley cannot dance, has never been able to. But here, surrounded by the humanity they worked so hard to save, it’s hard to fault him if his steps are out of date. His hair is longer now; he’s been growing it out. He’d decided to try facial hair, sad that Aziraphale had missed it the first time. 

_What on Earth is that on your face, dear?_

_You don’t like it?_

_No, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it._

And he will, he always does. Whatever Crowley’s whim-of-the-month, Aziraphale follows along. Crowley winds himself up like a top, spins out into shambles. Aziraphale follows behind, tutting and putting his pieces back together. A walking bundle of limbs and anxiety, that’s what Crowley is. Aziraphale loves him.

_You can stay at my place, if you like._

_I don’t think my side would like that._

_You don’t have a side anymore, neither of us do._

An offer, an extending of the hand. Six millennia in the making, followed by forty years of uncertainty. Of wishing, of wanting. He’d asked for time, Crowley had given it to him. They had fallen together that night, a mess of lips and limbs and teeth. Litanies falling from their mouths, benedictions kissed into skin. Confessions of millennia and centuries and decades and years and days. Each one spoken, each one cradled and turned and examined. Carefully and completely, until they fell asleep in a mutual bliss, ready to face the next day.

_Oh-! Yes, right there, just like that…_

_Fuck, Aziraphale, I’m so close—_

_Let go, darling, yes, oh—Crowley!_

The days went by like a blur over those first couple of months. Nights in Crowley’s silk sheets, days spent at the park or the shop. Taking any chance they could to get their hands on each other, like teenagers discovering things for the first time. Things would start with a soft kiss, quickly becoming three or four until suddenly the count was lost. Crowley would end up straddling his lap, Aziraphale gripping his hips tight as he would chase his pleasure on Aziraphale’s cock. Or they’d make it to the bedroom, tangled up in I love you’s and sweat until both were spent and exhausted. Six millennia is a lot of time to make up for.

_Good morning, Angel._

_Crowley, that tickles!_

It wasn’t long until Aziraphale was waking in Crowley’s arms every morning. He cherished the groggy, sleep soaked _good morning, angel_ that fell from Crowley’s lips, chased after by sleep-soft kisses and the scratch of beardstart against his cheek. Their legs entwined, fingers too. Crowley’s breath against his skin, soft and gentle. A steady rhythm Aziraphale could set his life to. Maybe just a few more minutes, no need to wake just yet.

_Have you seen the teaspoons? Swore they were in this drawer._

_They should be, dear, that’s where I’ve always kept them._

_Ah, that’s why, I forgot to wash up…_

He watches as Crowley flits about the little kitchenette in the bookshop. Opening cabinets and drawers, sifting through the utensils inside, looking for teaspoons of all things. Crowley doesn’t even _drink_ tea most of the time, but he enjoys making it for Aziraphale. Sometimes Aziraphale thinks Crowley feels smug about knowing exactly how the angel takes his tea. Crowley’s search leads him to the sink, where all four spoons reside. He sighs and smiles, letting the sink fill with water before stirring the tea with a fork instead while Aziraphale tuts in mock offense. Aziraphale sips the tea slowly as Crowley does the washing up and thinks he should buy more spoons. In fact, the kitchenette itself seems a bit small for two. The bookshop was never built to be a _home_ , and that word has been flitting about in Aziraphale’s head quite a lot lately.

_Darling I’ve been thinking…_

_Dangerous pastime really, angel, might get in trouble that way._

_Oh, hush you, I’m serious! What if we left London? Went to the countryside?_

Moving day had not been the greatest. Even for two celestial beings older than the known universe, it had it’s stresses. Crowley had hurt his feelings over the space for books, he’d hurt Crowley’s over the demon’s flair for minimalism. They’d both reacted harshly, spent the time moving boxes in anger. Both of them are stubborn, this is a known fact. It was when Aziraphale was unpacking the Shakespeare’s that Crowley had shuffled into the library, hands fisted in his pockets. His eyes had been trained on the ground. He’d looked so sad and so guilty, and, really, both of them had been unfair. Aziraphale had swept him up into his arms, kissed him until neither of them could breathe. They made love on the Persian rug, right there in the library, and put the rest of the unpacking on hold for another day.

_Angel…are you sure?_

_I’ve never been more sure of anything, dearheart. Crowley, will you marry me?_

_Yes, always yes, it’s always been you._

The days leading up to their wedding had been a blur as well. A simple thing, just an exchange of rings, an exchange of words. A true “our own side” at last. Crowley’s anxieties had taken hold of him but Aziraphale had done his best to soothe him. Crowley, at his core, was a question mark. He’d fallen for asking questions; he’d lived his time on earth asking even more. Always, just under the surface, questioning and wondering. It’s one of the things Aziraphale loved the most. That inquisitiveness, that thirst to _know_ . But these questions were different. _What if you get sick of me? What if heaven wants you back? What if I’m not who you want me to be?_ The answers were simple. _I could never, not in all of infinity, I love you. Heaven doesn’t deserve my time, you are the one who cares about me, I love you. You are_ Crowley _, the one who has my entire heart, the only being who’s ever been honest with me, I love you for_ you _._ Crowley had cried as he put the ring on Aziraphale’s finger. Had cried as Aziraphale put the ring on his.

_Happy Anniversary, darling. What would you like to do tonight?_

_What if we went out to a club?_

_A nightclub, really?_

Now they are here, a year after their wedding, 2 years after they stood on an airbase in Tadfield and chose each other and the world over everything else. Crowley dances badly, and Aziraphale loves him. He saunters over to the bar, looking absolutely ridiculous. Aziraphale loves him. He knows he has a sappy besotted look on his face; Crowley brings that out of him. He laughs as Crowley dances around him, goading him in to joining him on the dance floor. He extends a hand and Aziraphale takes it, Takes him in: the glasses, the hair, the smile, and even the mustache. He laughs as Crowley spins him around the dance floor. It’s not the gavotte, but he’s here with the demon he loves. And they are happy. Incandescently happy. Crowley pulls Aziraphale close, dips him down low, kissing him as he does. Aziraphale thinks he hears a few people clap around them, but his focus is here. On his life, on his love, on his demon.

They’re healing from these old wounds. They’re moving on, step in step with each other. They’re building a life for themselves, a life filled with love and happiness.

  
  



End file.
